Read The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) Online
Authors: Bink Cummings
The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1)
The
Diary of Bink Cummings
Volume
1
MC Chronicles
Bink Cummings
~~~
Kindle Edition
ISBN: 978-0-9903792-3-2
Copyright © 2014 Bink Cummings
All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for
the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Editor- Anna Coy
Editor- Rachelle
Proofreader/Editor- Ashley Hampton
Cover Artist- Bink Cummings
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other
people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and
did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please
return to the Author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the
hard work of this author.
(Note: this is a work of Fiction, with some aspects based around truth.)
Contact the Author:
Email:
[email protected]
I wanna thank Pixie, Jezebel, and the rest of my
Sacred Sisters for giving me the courage and push to write my story. I would
like to thank all the blogs who have helped promote, and review, and I wanna
give an extra shout out to Amy and Zetta for their badass beta reading skills
and Ashley my editor/proofreader for her patience and invaluable support. All
you bitches make my life that much brighter with your help and encouragement; I
couldn’t have come this far without you.
Much Love — Peace:
Bink
I’m Eva “Bink” Cummings, and this is my story.
Having yielded to my friends, thanks to their
encouragement and nagging. I’ve decided to write my story – about my past, my
daily life, those who live in it, and why I’ve chosen my path. I’m a thirty
year old single woman with no kids, a new job at a doctor’s office, a dinky
apartment that I live in with my dog Pretzel, a sex drive to rival any man’s,
and an extended family the size of a small country. I have problems, and my
life… Well… Let’s just blow the hinges off this bitch, shall we? My life is in
utter disarray. Hence, why you are now reading this. Something has to give, and
I have my fingers crossed that my internal dialogue bullshit might do the
trick. You’ll just have to see for yourself.
of Contents
One
Monday, September 2, 2013
Today’s the day I start writing to you, and let’s just
hope I can do at least this right. My birthday was last week. Last week I
turned thirty; last week my life changed into another decade. A decade I swear
that I’m going to do better. Considering I spent my entire 20’s bed-hopping
from one bad boy loser to the next and never having a damn thing to show for
it. No ring, no happiness, a big fat
nada
.
Except maybe the extra ten pounds I’ve gained since high school. Ok, I realize
you are probably rolling your eyes at me right now. Yes, ten whole pounds. All
of it created by stress eating mass quantities of chocolate and all of it
ending up in two places, T&A—need I say more?
Now… When I stare at myself in the mirror, I see
boobs.
Boobs
is all I see. Or how
my mom so delicately puts it, I’m
‘One Big
Tit.’
A medium sized woman with boobs too big for her body. I’ve
considered having them lopped off a time or two, but then where would my
sporadic nipple orgasms go? I can’t jeopardize those, not when they make my
toes curl and I’m clawing at whatever man is sucking them, nearly suffocating
him in these giant bad boys. I’m a size six. Don’t hate me, I can’t help it.
And if I gain weight, I fear I might topple over as my breasts will undoubtedly
get larger, they always do. I have a hard enough time buying bras at it is. A
size 34 DDD, yes, I said it… Three D’s…I’m not stuttering.
My hair…it’s always been the same
color, different styles and lengths, but I refuse to dye it. It’s blonde,
Goldilocks blonde, and it’s short, at least for now. I wear it close to my jaw
now; I chopped off the majority of it after my last loser boyfriend and I broke
up. My eyes are blue…Why the hell am I’m spouting this shit to you? No damn
clue…but I’m at a loss of what to say or what the hell I’m supposed to even
write… Just deal? Will ya? Oh sweet Jesus, I’m talking to a diary now. Pathetic,
huh? Yup, I’ve stooped to an all-time low. Okay, maybe not low-low, but low
enough that I am sitting here in my living room, my laptop in my lap, the TV is
on with some infomercial, and it’s five a.m. I am due to my second week of work
at eight, and I can’t sleep. I can hardly ever sleep. A few hours here or
there, and I’m lucky if I get that.
Glancing up from my computer screen,
I scan my apartment with my eyes, taking in my life. Trying, in some way, to
fathom how I’ve gotten nowhere fast. Landing my eyes across the room on the
full bookshelf is the entire reason my life has been this way. Why I am the way
I am. A picture of my parents rests there in a silver ornate frame, their eyes
staring knowingly at me. Like they can see my deepest, darkest secrets, or some
shit.
I guess, since I’m sitting here,
staring, and reminiscing…and I don’t see any shuteye in my near future, I’ll
explain a little more about myself. Since eye color really isn’t of any
importance.
My name is Eva, or that’s what’s on
my birth certificate. I can’t remember the last time anyone has ever called me
that. To everyone else in the world, to all my family, and friends, I’m Bink,
Bink Cummings. The daughter of Rodney ‘Steel’ Cummings. Who goes by Steel or Daddy,
when I speak to or about him. My father is and has always been a badass, no
nonsense man, who just so happens to be the VP of the Motorcycle Club, Sacred Sinners. That’s how I grew up, surrounded by men in leather, drinking beer or
liquor, fucking whores and bitches in front of me, smoking God knows what, and
cussing so much it would make your grandma’s grandma blush. Those same men ride
hogs; that’s what we call motorcycles, not those prissy bitchass crotch rockets
made of plastic for men who have less balls than I do. No, big metal machines
that make your pussy clench when you ride on one. And yes, I own my own little
slice of heavy rumbling metal that I hold between my thighs and have to think
of anything else than the orgasm that always consumes me when I’m on Black
Betty, my pink and black vintage Harley. She was a gift from my daddy and his
club Prez, Big Dick, when I graduated college a few years back with a
bachelor’s degree in business management.
I’m a third generation biker. Both of
my parents’ parents were in the Sacred Sinners. Pap-pap still is, going on eighty
and still rides his Harley and hangs around the club on occasion. My mom’s
folks passed on before I was born. My mom’s nine years older than my dad and
had already considered him hers once he turned fourteen. Kind of gross when you
think about it. A twenty-three year old broad getting wet for some kid. That’s
my parents, though. Happy as ever, in love, and perfect for each other.
Although I must admit, I’m not my mother’s biggest fan, nor my two sisters, for
that matter. Yeah, there’s a whole damn litter of us. Two boys, three girls.
Guess where I fit into all of this? The middle. I’m the middle child, the black
sheep. My sisters both married off and moved away; both of them despise the MC
and married some metro-sexual motherfuckers with tiny cocks and fat wallets. My
brothers fell in line right behind my father—leather, bitches, hogs, and the
whole gambit. I’m a strange mixture of both worlds.
Glancing up again from my computer, I
catch a glimpse of Pretzel’s tail awakening.
“I know you’re up,” I tell him, and
that whip of a tail goes wild as he rolls to his side, his eyes landing right
on me. Yup, I’m a sucker for those puppy dog eyes. I love this damn dog. Got
Pretzel almost two years ago, after another one of the club’s pit bull bitches
had a litter and he came out the runt. Big Dick sold a few of the pups and when
all was left was Pretzel and the two other dogs they were going to train, he’d
pulled me to the side one evening at the club.
“Hey, Bink,” he’d boomed over the crowd, with a jerk of his
chin, alerting me that he wanted to talk. The club was packed as usual. Which
meant half-naked club whores, zero old ladies, and all the leather clad bikers
that were patched into the club or prospects who wanted to join. I just
happened to be dropping by to deliver some cookies I had baked for the men to
munch on and was ready to leave. Once you’ve watched dozens upon dozens of men
in your life literally take a bitch over the bar, a chair, or wall in front of
you or force a whore to suck his dick, you kind of become numb to it. Once
you’ve seen one dick, you’ve seen them all. Well…sort of. You catch my drift.
As I approached Big Dick his smile widened, and the whore
between his legs kept up her desperate and failed attempt to fit his cock in
her mouth. Pitiful sight. I knew he loved every single time a woman attempted
the impossible. I’d heard as much over the years.
“I have a runt.”
My eyes narrowed,
trying to understand what the hell he was even talking about.
“Huh?”
“Punta’s runt,
nobody bought ‘em. Can’t keep ‘em. He goes to ground or you find him a place to
rest his tiny head.”
This wasn’t the
first time a runt hadn’t been bought, but it was the first time I’d ever been
offered one.
“Big, you know I
can’t afford one of your dogs.”
He shook his head, his
long dark brown hair that was tied back with a rubber band swayed slightly.
“He’s yours if you want him. He’s a cute pup—”
I grinned and had
to hide my need to laugh when he said the word ‘cute.’ It just didn’t suit
coming from the lips of a man who was properly road-named Big Dick, who also
happened to be approximately six feet eight inches tall, and pushing three
hundred pounds of tight, hard muscle, with tattoos that littered his scarred,
tanned flesh.
“What?” He stopped
his sentence, realizing my expression had changed.
I shook my head,
dismissing my need to laugh. He’d probably go off the hinges if I had even
chuckled at him.
A growl, a deep,
murderous, Hellhound growl snarled from his lips and my eyes went wide. Fuck!
He was scary when he got like that.
“Tell me, Bink.”
I bit my lip, as he
ordered again, more agitated this time. “Tell me, Bink.” His giant hand went to
the whore between his legs, who was still trying to suck his fat cock. Gripping
her hair, he yanked her off his erection, and I about fainted. Jesus. Fucking.
Christ. I had heard about his dick. It was a legend. I just hadn’t seen it in
person. As the whore, who I recognized as a newbie, fell back onto her ass, he
grabbed between his legs and stroked his length. Holy. Hell. I went light-headed
as all the blood rushed out of my brain and landed firmly between my thighs,
instantly making me wetter than I had ever been.
“You can’t suck my
dick for shit, whore. Get out of my sight.” He sneered at her in palpable
disgust and she shrank away, mortified. Straight into the crowd of leather,
sex, booze, and loud rock music she went.
“Now, tell me.”
I couldn’t have
kept up my brush off any longer, not if I wanted to stay in the good graces of
the club Prez.
“It’s nothing—” I
stopped talking, and even though I didn’t want to, I looked at it again. The
giant baseball bat between his legs was still being stroked as he grinned at
me. The one singular dimple on his face wound me tighter than an eight-day
clock, and I knew if I didn’t leave soon, my pussy juices were going to start
to run down my legs. I was
that
turned on.
Using his thumb,
still giving me that grin, which showed he was rough, beautiful, and naughty as
hell, he swirled the pre-come on the head of his monster cock and pinched the
head between his fingers. Shhhiiitttt, it was sexy.
“Want me to take
care of that, baby?” another club whore singsonged, coming to stand beside me,
and my stomach rolled. I wanted to puke. This one was naked and chubby, unlike
the other who was also naked but skinny as hell. I hated that I was in the
middle of this. I’d spent my adult years trying to avoid situations that
included club whores.
The expression on
Big Dick’s face was one of pure aggression and lust, as his lips curled over
his teeth, and he not only growled at her, he nearly ate her alive with just a
look. A look of pure evil, wrapped with sinister thoughts of slow, agonizing
murder.
The chubby brunette
didn’t even stand there a moment longer before she broke into a sob and ran
full speed, away from him.
“Two, Big Dick, two
fuckin’ whores tonight are gone. How much more ass am I gonna lose tonight
before you cool the fuck off, man?” a member I recognized as Runner said,
standing against the wall a few feet away, two bitches on their knees playing
with his less than impressive cock.
“Out!” Big Dick
snapped, pointing his free hand toward the front doors of the clubhouse.
Runner shook his
head, exasperated, “Fine,” his words were clipped, eyes narrowed into tiny
slits as he took the women by the arms and escorted them, along with himself,
out the door. Both of the girls giggling like teenagers the whole way. Shit,
who was I kidding, they probably were teenagers. I just didn’t care to notice
or ask. Wasn’t my problem.
“Alright, now that
that’s done.” Big Dick sighed, leaning back in his leather armchair. He was
half-naked, his head reclined against the top.
“I didn’t want to
laugh, but when you said the word cute, it doesn’t suit you,” I spit out fast,
using all my air and quickly sucking a nervous breath.
“Cute?”
There it went
again, a deep, gravelly voice like his and that word. I covered my mouth.
“Cute?”
Squeezing my eyes
shut, I tried desperately to hold back my impending laughter.
“Cute?”
A giggle snuck out,
and he growled, again, like a beastly animal. I opened my eyes to see him
ferociously fucking his own fist, his own eyes locked on me. His dick jerked.
I
saw it fucking jerk
, and I couldn’t help but
stare as my breathing kicked up. I nearly exploded on the spot.
Nine inches of
thick man meat was being stroked directly in front of me, and I just stood
there in a room full of bikers and watched. In awe, I might add. The first jet
that shot from his dick arced high and landed on the floor by my feet. Each
spurt shot, one right after the other, six in total, and they all were
beautiful. Yep, I said beautiful. I’ve never, to this day, seen a man come that
hard, that completely…that
deliciously
. I’ve slept with men, lots and lots of men. Not once
have they come so purely. That’s the perfect word to describe that night, that
first and only night he came in front of me.
Beautifully pure.
Swiping off the
last bead of come from his dripping head with his t-shirt, he sighed, stood up,
towering well over a foot above me and slid his leathers up his legs, buttoning
and zipping them. Running his thumb across my chin, he winked at me, and I
melted by his touch. Twenty years older than me, still gorgeous and utterly
untouchable, not like I’ve ever wanted to touch. Well, nothing other than maybe
his cock. Which I’ve dreamt about ever since that night. The night that Pretzel
became my dog.
Big Dick stepped
past me. I was frozen in shock, and ready to come on a moment’s notice, trying
desperately to reel in what had just taken place.
He had
jerked off in front of me. Looking at me.
It
didn’t compute.
“Yo, Bink, dog,
yeah?”
I nodded and turned to see him staring casually at me, like
nothing happened. His normal half smirk, half smile, played on his handsomely
rugged face.
“Yeah.” I anxiously
swallowed and followed him out the front doors of the clubhouse and to the back
of the property in the middle of the night, where they housed the high-class
kennels. Not only does my father’s club deal in the shit most clubs do, they
also deal in purebred pits, rotties, and dobies. They don’t fight themselves,
but I know that has to be part of what these expensive dogs are used for. They
train them to be guard dogs and sell them at high prices. Thousands of dollars,
to be exact.